The day had barely started, and it felt as if a decade had passed. Dede intruding was a disruption all the less appreciated, in that Dede hadn't been the one to cause it. And how 'bout that? The hue and cry were for Willy to go and see him, but shouldn't the hue and cry also have been that Dede ask that his son be told?
The wall of the Chocolate Room loomed beside him, and turning from the corridor, Willy pushed on a vertically elliptical door. It opened by the edge of the chocolate fall's pool, discreetly secluded from the rest of the room, near the stationary pipes that collected and pumped the chocolate nearest the fall. With a glance towards the path to the Bucket house, finding himself not ready to make the trek to his next responsibility, Willy moved to the edge of the pool instead. This was a favorite spot of his, anytime, but especially when trouble brewed. Sheltered by a thick glade of toffee-apple trees, the swish of the swudge beneath his feet made Willy think of taking off his boots. There was something about the slope of the bank here, the opulent foliage edging it, that made the chocolate seem more like thick mud, best felt squishing between one's toes, the sensation a treat for his feet. Nope; can't do that; mustn't be touched by human hands; mustn't be touched by human feet, either. Could he make a pool for the purpose? A pool that went nowhere; a pool where the chocolate glurped up from the bottom, like a mud-pot?
Willy closed his eyes. If he did make a pool, it wouldn't be today. Today, listening to the muted roar of the fall, designed to mix, but to minimally disturb, and to the sucking sounds of the chocolate in the pipes, the ever flowing chocolate, in this, the heart of his Factory, its ventricles and values these pipes, was enough. For this room was his Factory's heart; this place... always a solace to him. It was solace now, and easy to find. He'd never managed to find his father's heart, and there was no solace in that.
"I love strangers!"
Willy turned to see Georgina, her eyes aglow in her care-worn face, and knew that if she impinged on his settling his thoughts, he had only himself to blame for the bother; Wonkavite to short-circuit the effects of starvation had been his idea.
"I don't," Willy answered, smiling back at her. "Are you lost?"
"Not anymore," she crowed. "Is it time for breakfast?"
"I s'pose it is. I'll take you back."
Breakfast was a strained affair, full of smiles as ersatz as they were bright, with Willy not the only culprit. He wished only to observe, and they, not understanding, took his reticence for regret. It was too late for that feeling, and Nora, serving up scrambled eggs, spoke in a stream as steady as the chocolate river, of the trivialities of setting up house, doing her best to draw Willy out with questions. He, for his part, attempted to take part, but these niceties were torture, and Noah, long-established in his habit of saying little, put an end to the strain by under the table, kicking his spouse's shin.
Shooting Noah a look that condemned the method more than the sentiment, Nora directed her comments to others, and Willy, with the respite from the spotlight, was able to observe as he wished. He soon wished his observations weren't what they were. This meal, and these people, were nothing like the breakfast table of his youth; not remotely close. This was a fairy-tale world, read about in story books: kind people, behaving kindly towards each other. Every passing second made Willy more uncomfortable. He wouldn't ask again the question he'd asked George; the answer was obvious, and had he seen this first, he'd have spared George the asking as well. The scene before him brought the other question to perplex him now; the question he'd posed to himself at the pool's edge. Afraid, were he to ask that one, of what they might answer, Willy kept quiet, excusing himself as soon as he was able. The worst part was taking care not to look at Charlie. This should have been a happy day, but the shadow on Willy's mind made it otherwise. No way he'd involve Charlie in this, or any of them!
The awkwardness Willy felt leaving, was felt by them all. Willy had said nothing about plans for the rest of the day. Were they on their own? Nora exchanged a worried glance with Noah, who discreetly shook his head. Let it play out, it said. Things had been fine last night. Whatever it was, it was most likely not them. Charlie dearly wanted to ask Willy what was up, but dared not. As subdued as he'd become, Willy was unrecognizable. His face a mask, the light from his violet eyes was so far gone they appeared brown. Through the open door, Eshle pacing, well away from the house, but within easy sight, was a welcome distraction.
"Eshle," Nora called, waving the napkin she held. "Are you waiting for Willy? I'm afraid we have him; monopolizing his time, I'm afraid…" Nora let her voice trail off. To her ears, she sounded afraid of too many things, and she wasn't afraid. Were she to keep up the prattle, the disingenuousness of it would be discovered.
Eshle came forward, but not far, returning the wave. The level of his poorly concealed agitation was something the Buckets would not have thought possible in an Oompa-Loompa. His face made it clear he did want Willy, but it also made clear Eshle wanted Willy well clear of them.
Willy hung back.
Stranger and stranger, it seemed to the Buckets; Willy was as reluctant to talk to Eshle, as he'd been reluctant to talk to them. But Willy obliged his production chief, bowing his thanks for the breakfast as he left. Making the best of the mystery, the Bucket family returned to their house, and the more fathomable atmosphere within, with Charlie chewing his lip.
Eshle lost no time.
"Doris did as you asked. The hospital has been back in touch."
"Why am I not surprised, and why do I not care?" sighed Willy. After his recent, picked-at meal, he dearly wanted not to see his father.
"They want to know if you are going to visit your father." Willy did nothing to fill the pause. "If you do, they feel they will need to have security in place above and beyond the usual."
"I'm a threat?"
"They think you are a celebrity, and that without their taking measures, your visit would be too much of a disruption for the other patients in hospital. They want advance warning, and lots of it."
"A disruption? I'm disruptive?"
"That's what they say."
Willy smiled. Being considered a disruption by the hospital was the best thing that had happened to him all day. His eyes regained some sparkle. "Is there something I can disrupt here?" He giggled. And then he became morose. "Should I go?"
A scowl met the inquiry. Eshle folded his arms across his chest, looking as if he might spit venom. "Why would you?"
Willy's brow arched up. "Because it's the thing expected of one in these situations? Libby is very keen on keeping me abreast of all the social do's-and-don'ts. I've deep-sixed most of what he says, but he insists this 'do' is a must 'do'." Willy swapped his walking-stick to his other hand. "George would've gone; I think Doris would go."
"That's Libby and George and Doris, not a one of whom are you. Why should you go? To show compassion to a man who's never shown you any?"
Willy took a step back, pleasantly affronted by so deep a sentiment, so matching of his own, in one he hadn't thought had thought much about the matter. How could he? Eshle didn't know much about the matter; just the high points: how Libby fit in; the less than friendly sobriquets; the fact that Willy loathed the subject; the fact that living in the same town, the pater had never made himself known, till now, and even now, when ya got right down to it, he hadn't.
With a sly grin forming, Willy cocked his head. "So I take it you're saying you wouldn't go? Why, Eshle, the jungle has made you harsh."
Eshle looked daggers, but lowered his eyes. "The jungle took my father, when I was ten. A snozzwhanger ripped him apart, as if he were so much confetti. The jungle is harsh."
Willy knew that about the jungle, but not that about Eshle's father. His flippancy had been out-of-place, and hurtful. Willy dropped his eyes, studying the toes of his boots, wishing he could call the tone, if not the words, back. Eshle's breath was coming quickly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. May I ask who raised you? They did a fine job," said Willy meekly, hoping to make amends.
Eshle felt his face color at the compliment, and at the unintentional discomfort he'd put Willy in. "My uncle; Doris's father."
"You two are cousins?" There was a revelation; cousins, and raised together? It explained a lot about the way the two got along with each other. "Is it one of Libby's 'do's' that I should have known that before now?"
The color in Eshle's face deepened. How did Willy do that? But he did it all the time: sidetracked you into talking about something else. This was a conversation about Willy's father, not his! A conversation meant to make Willy feel better, not worse, for not knowing the backgrounds of his employees! "I don't think so," said Eshle. "Family histories aren't really in the job description, on either side, are they?"
Willy thought that over. "Not unless they become disruptive, I'd say, and mine has, hasn't it?" But the sparkle was back in Willy's eyes, his mind at ease. It was nice of Eshle to let him off the hook; in more ways than one. Eshle meant more to Willy than the job Eshle did. He reckoned Eshle knew that. He hoped he did. "The hospital claims so. Libby claims so. Dede claims so, in a roundabout way. Dede's gone to a lot of trouble to see that I not trouble myself about seeing him. So having taken the trouble to see that his troubles are eased, I think my troubles are over! If Dede wants to see me, Dede can trouble himself to send me a note. The hospital knows where I am, even if he doesn't, and they can send it for him." Willy beamed. Even Dede, were he as sick as Libby claimed him to be, at this point, couldn't be troubled about the Trust! "I hereby declare this trouble trounced! It's Saturday; no school. I'll be taking Charlie, and whoever of his passel wants to go, on more of a tour of the Factory. There's so much to see! And they've seen so little! Please tell the hospital I shall be disrupting them not today, or for the foreseeable future."
With arms crossed, Eshle bowed, and happy with these pronouncements, scurried off. Willy, all smiles, returned the salute, turned on his toes, strode to the Bucket house door, rapped on the wood with his ever-gloved knuckles, and swishing his walking-stick contentedly beside him, waited for the door to open.
Thank you readers, reviewers, and all of you who fav and/or follow. Your kind expressions help make this all worthwhile. I do not own "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended.
Squirrela: Thanks for sharing your thoughts, and for enjoying the different ways different people work, or don't work, together.
